The First Lie I Ever Told to God

Part 2 of “Religion Has Failed” by Vazken Kalayjian

Blue. Yellow. White. Three colors that meant everything.

“Those who stop believing in God don’t believe in nothing. They believe in anything.” — Voltaire

The Smell of Paint and the First Lie I Told Myself

I remember the first time I lied to God. I was nine years old. It was New Year’s Eve in Aleppo.

In our Syrian-Armenian tradition, Father Noël (Գաղանդ Պապա or Ձմեռ Պապ) didn’t come on Christmas; he arrived at midnight on December 31. And to receive a gift, you had to perform.

Sing a song. Recite a poem. Play something on the violin or piano.

I wasn’t into performing. Never had been. I hated the show of it all. Sometimes, I’d bring a drawing or painting instead — that was acceptable. Or maybe I was just the exception.

The rest of the children? Performing like circus monkeys. I thought: How embarrassing.

Aunt Mary — my father’s eccentric, flamboyant sister — asked what I wanted. I told her clearly:

“Three tubes of oil paint — blue, yellow, and white.” I even told her where the art supply store was.

Blue for the river. Yellow for the fields. Blue and yellow to mix green for the trees. With white, I could make light. Sky. Water. Sun. Those three colors were everything. She wasn’t listening. I had a habit of giving too much information.

I was halfway through a landscape on a masonite board — a memory from a Druze village: A stone house near a stream. Tall grass. Wild poppies. A small bridge. A church steeple. A mosque in the distance.

The scene was alive in my mind, but unfinished on the board. Without those colors, it would remain imprisoned in imagination.

I always needed to finish things — to complete the pattern. (If I’d been born fifty years later, someone might’ve diagnosed me with OCD or mild Asperger’s. I think the new clinical term is Autism Spectrum Disorder — ASD.)

Instead, Aunt Mary gave me a plastic race car set. It had fake rubber tires. It smelled of synthetic chemicals.

I stared at it, confused. I didn’t play with toys. I painted. I built. I made things with tools. I once assembled a miniature Eiffel Tower—a jewelry box for my mother.

I wanted to tell her the truth. But before I could speak, my older sister leaned in and whispered:

“Say thank you, Aunt Mary.”

I hesitated. She nudged again. My other sister kicked me under the table.

They knew I often said what was true — not what was expected. So I lied.

“Thank you, Aunt Mary… for the gift.”

Everyone clapped. Aunt Mary pulled me into a hug — Pressed tightly between her enormous breasts. Too tight. Too long. And then — the worst part — the kiss.

I turned my face, but she caught the side near my ear. Her perfume and red lipstick clung like industrial residue.

I ran to the bathroom and scrubbed until my skin burned. In the mirror, a crimson smear of half her lips glared back at me. I wiped again. And again.

That was the first time I knew what it felt like to betray something true inside me. To feel dirty — not from sin, but from obedience. To suppress the voice of my soul and perform false gratitude instead. To lie to protect an adult’s feelings. To lie because I was told it was polite. To lie… to belong.

That night, under a scratchy wool blanket, my sister came to say prayers with me. She said it was good that I had thanked Aunt Mary.

“It’s polite,” she said. “She went out of her way and spent money on it. Gratitude is important.”

I whispered:

“But I told her what I wanted. Why didn’t she listen?”

“She meant well,” my sister said. “Most adults think kids want toys.”

There was a long pause. Then she added:

“It’s just how people are. You say thank you, good morning, goodbye — even if you don’t feel like it. It’s how society works.”

“So… even if it’s not true?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Even then.”

That phrase cracked something open in me. A splinter. A seed. A suspicion.

The moment a child learns the difference between truth and politeness.

A Society Built on Polite Lies

I began to wonder: What else are people lying about — not out of cruelty, but out of fear? What else do we say just to appear kind, normal, or civilized?

When my grandfather died, people came with their condolences:

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” “May God illuminate his soul.” “He was such a wonderful man.”

Some of them barely knew my grandfather. Like parrots, they repeated:

In Armenian: “Ցավակցում եմ։ Աստված լուսավորի նրա հոգին։” In Arabic, they said: “Allah yarhamuh.” In Turkish: “Başınız sağ olsun.”

All scripted. All expected. All… pretend.

Do I have to say I like meat, even though it made me gag? Do I have to laugh at Uncle Jamil’s jokes when he has too many drinks of araki? Do I have to tell God I’m grateful for things I never asked for? Like a dog on the street bit me, and I had to get so many rabies shots in my stomach. Four nurses had to hold me down. The needle seemed a foot long!

That’s when the doubt began.

Not just about Santa. But about all of it.

God. Heaven. Manhood. History. Heroes. Country. Love. Respect disguised as something phony.

If religion has failed and technology has no soul — where do we turn now?

Half a Century Later…

We’re still pretending. Still lying to each other. Still lying to ourselves.

Only now — we’ve built machines that lie for us.

They write thank-you notes we don’t mean. They generate fake faces and fake news. They apologize for us. Sell to us. Pray for us. They smile like we’re smiling. They echo the things we want to hear.

And somewhere deep inside, the same crack opens again.

The child inside, the one who asked for blue, yellow, and white, wonders if anyone is still listening.

And if you listen closely… you may recognize that child inside yourself.

Read Part 1: Religion Has Failed — But That’s Not the Whole Story. The Key to Spiritual Evolution in the Age of AI

[embed]Religion Has Failed — But That’s Not the Whole Story The Key to Spiritual Evolution in the Age of AIkalayjian.medium.com

Engage & Share

💬 Did this resonate? Drop a comment below.

☕ buymeacoffee.com/vaskengkx [Link]

👏 Clap up to 50 times to support this message reaching more people.

🔁 Share it with someone who may benefit from it.

Blue. Yellow. White. Three colors that meant everything.

Glossary of Terms

• Father Noël: The Armenian/Syrian version of Santa Claus, typically celebrated on New Year’s Eve rather than Christmas.
• Druze: A monotheistic ethnoreligious group found primarily in Syria, Lebanon, and Israel.
• Araki: A Levantine unsweetened anise-flavored alcoholic drink.
• Masonite: A type of hardboard made of steam-cooked and pressure-molded wood fibers, used as a painting surface.

Sources and References:

1. G.K. Chesterton (or Voltaire?) — The original quote attribution is debated, but its insight is timeless.
2. The cited cultural practices are based on personal lived experience in Syrian-Armenian diaspora communities. Syrian-Armenian religious and social traditions are referenced via oral tradition and memory.

Image Credit:

Key visuals developed by the author using AI image generation, digital editing, and conceptual art direction, inspired by historical photographs for educational and transformative use.

About the Author:

Vazken Kalayjian is a global branding expert, strategist, meditation teacher, and writer exploring power, symbolism, and civilizational identity at the intersection of spirituality, design, technology, art, and culture. His work examines how meaning is shaped and eroded by modern systems, and how creative consciousness can guide innovation without losing its soul.